Three Poems

Three Poems for a Young Delinquent

rumchata I think you'll like rumchata, more than Malibu anyway. I made mixed drinks. They're– well, it doesn't matter. Drink. They didn't even ask for an I.D., you know how it is on a Saturday night. Thought we were sorority girls in our white dresses. Drew says it's only a crime if you get caught. No one's gonna catch us, hey. Obama won the election and they're popping champagne in the hallway, I heard them, just now. We're celebrating on the balcony, overlooking the pool. We're only young once, and hey, kiss me! I bet you taste like rumchata. close mouth kiss the jungle juice is in a trash can, and there's a hand down my pants that's not mine. beer bottles break in the trash can, my heel breaks on the dance floor. he's got a new tattoo, he's celebrating something big. how about a kiss? sure, but I don't open my mouth for liars. you know, this is just the jungle juice talking, i don't kiss liars. seven years later he's singing play Gloria. thank God, thank pi kappa alpha, i never kissed a liar. monologue boys always order me a whiskey they don't like whiskey, but they think it makes them look tough, think they look like protectors. think i need a protector. ha! listen, my best friend just stole a car from a frat boy and crashed it on Stevens Street. if i'm here, i'm just her alibi. get me something fruity and i might let you touch me. can you dance? let's pop that bottle. i can't take you home, we've spent the last five years sleeping in cars, locked out til morning. no, listen, i didn't say that so you'd feel sorry. shit, is that a siren? how fast can you run?